


Winter's tide

by applesaucecake



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Castles, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Knight Steve Rogers, Mutual Pining, Nobility, Peter Parker is a Mess, Protective Steve Rogers, Snowed In, Steve Rogers Feels, Swords and stuff, Tension, Women Being Awesome, medieval knights and stuff, natasha romanov is such a badass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:26:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21792208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applesaucecake/pseuds/applesaucecake
Summary: You are the niece of Lord Pym, and the cousin of Hope Van Dyne, his daughter. One wintry night, they leave for the house of her betrothed, and you are left alone with only your servants for company.But something darker than that cold night lurks in the shadows, seeking you out. It is only when you meet the enigmatic Steve Rogers that you realise how little you really know about your family and the outside world.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Reader, Scott Lang/Hope Van Dyne, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> For gailrichardsrogers- I'm not entirely sure that this is exactly what you asked for, but I just loved the bodyguard idea and ran with it (in a different time period haha). Thank you again for your support on my last fic.  
> This will be only a few chapters, and they'll be up in fairly short succession. Hope you enjoy :)

Icy flakes of snow swirled down from the cloud-filled sky outside the window. This year’s first snowfall was vicious, not gentle - it whispered of harder times to come, and it made everyone shiver, even the castle’s hardy groundskeeper and caretaker, Bruce.

You drew your cloak tightly around you, and trudged through the snow to meet him. He was busy stacking logs for the fire now, but in the summer months you often visited him when he walked the length of the vineyard, picking grapes from the bountiful vines. You liked to help him sort them into baskets and take them to the brewery to be fermented into wine.

Bruce caught sight of you, shaking his head. “My lady, you should not be outside in this weather. It is much too cold.”

“It is you who needs to be inside. Surely you have enough logs?” You said, eyeing the large stack he had already cut, almost toppling over from the weight.

Bruce gave you a look. “You can never have too many. I prefer the company out here than inside.”

He pointedly looked around at the surrounding hills and fields, the castle a mere shadow in the background. The courtyard was to his right, but no one was there now.

You knew what he meant. Inside, he would be forced to deal with so many people - your uncle, the Lord Pym, was busy getting ready to depart the castle with his daughter, Hope. There were many preparations taking place, and you were eager to stay out of the way.

“When will they leave?” Bruce asked, and you didn’t miss the anticipation in his voice.

You shrugged. “If this snow keeps up, they will not be able to leave after tomorrow.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t.”

You chuckled. “So, you do not take fondly to Lord Pym.”

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t mind him. It’s that rake that his daughter likes, Sir Lang.”

You barely ever heard him speak so callously about another person. “Oh?”

“I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn.” Bruce said, going red as he loaded more logs onto his stack.

You shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t care. Lord Pym will most likely marry Hope off to someone else. Someone with more connections, more money.”

“Who?”

“Sir Barton.” You guessed, folding your hands into your skirts to keep them warm. “They spend a lot of time together, Lord Pym and he.”

Bruce looked at you, arching an eyebrow. “Perhaps they ought to get married, then.”

You laughed. “Perhaps.”

“Lady Y/N!”

You heard your name echo across the yard, through the thick snowfall. Heaving a shuddering sigh, you turned. It was your handmaiden, Wanda.

“I’d better go. Please, don’t stay out long.”

Bruce smiled at you. “I wanted to ask...might you join me, for tea, later? Around noon?”

You smiled back. “Of course. Until then.”

*

Wanda ushered you inside, brushing the snow from your cloak and hanging it up to dry. If she was annoyed at you ruining your hair by being outside, she didn’t say anything, but that was her character. Difficult to read.

“It is high time for lunch, my lady.” She said, her eyes fixed on your forehead as she altered your hair, fixing pins, and brushing out the unruly curls.

“It’s a bit early, don’t you think?”

Wanda shook her head. “They were having an early luncheon before departing, and your uncle wishes you would join them. And Sir Lang, he wishes to speak with you. Privately.”

You sighed. What would it be about this time? You considered him a friend, but he was too reliant on you and your counsel.

“Very well.”

You nodded, thanking her and making your way to the main hall. If you weren’t there, you doubted Hope would mind, but your uncle was different. He had a terrible temper, which was why you wondered how he had allowed Sir Lang much more time in his halls.

Suddenly, a hand seized your arm, dragging you into an alcove. It was dark, and you tried to fight back, but relaxed when you saw who it was.

“Scott!” You scolded. He shushed you.

“I’m not supposed to be here.” He whispered. “Keep your voice down.”

You sighed, again. “Then why are you here? You know that Pym will skin you alive if he sees you within an inch of Hope.”

He shook his head, and you could see the stress on his face in the dark. “I’m not here to see Hope.”

You frowned. “Then what?”

Scott looked at you, and realisation dawned. You drew him from the alcove and down a small corridor that led to your father’s old study, knowing the passageways well. The study was still dusty, and the books untouched, but you were the only one that knew the secret way in. You pushed against the hidden door and entered the room, hearing Scott cough slightly behind you.

“I thought we’d be able to speak more privately here.” You said, shutting the door behind you, hoping it wouldn’t stick in place.

Scott opened his mouth to talk, but you stopped him with a hand. “You need to stop this. Coming here.”

“I know the risks, Y/N.” He said, and you swore you could see a small smile work its way onto his features. “But, the truth is…”

Dread squirmed in the pit of your stomach. “What?”

“I’m going to ask Hope to marry me.”

You stood where you were, frozen in place. For a moment you were unable to speak, so he filled the silence.

“We’ve talked about it for a while, running away...to a farm, or to my parents. Just for a while, before we get settled, and then we could -”

“Don’t.” You said, sharply, snapping back into reality. “Don’t labour under these delusions. He will never allow this marriage.”

Scott knew who you were talking about. “Yeah, well, that was why we were thinking of eloping.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation. He couldn’t be serious, and you told him so.

“I’m completely serious! Hope and I want to marry. If this is how we have to do it, then so be it.”

“Hope’s his only daughter! Don’t you see that? She’s the apple of his eye, even if he doesn’t always show it. You’ve already been married, and you have a daughter. When he finds out that you’ve stolen her away-”

“I’m not going to steal her away!”

“-he’ll kill you. Discreetly, so that no one knows about it. And then he’ll lock her away forever. You’d be condemning her, as well. Don’t you realise?”

He stopped. It seemed that any mention of Hope’s potential misery would halt him in his tracks, so you continued.

“If you truly love her, then don’t resign her to this fate.” Scott stared at his feet, defeatedly. He was silent, and you began to regret the way you had spoken to him before. All he wanted was their happiness, any fool could see that.

“I wish it was different.”

He had broken the silence, but the tone of his voice almost broke your heart.

“I know.” You said. “So do I.”

*

You ate your lunch in the main hall silently, unable to stop thinking about Scott and Hope. Across the table, she was equally as miserable, and barely ate anything. Glancing at your uncle, you realised it was him. He was only furthering the rift between himself and his daughter, and he didn’t even know it.

Once lunch was over, and the servants were busy readying the carriage to take them away to Lord Barton, and his son, the objective of Lord Pym, you spoke briefly with Hope. Her eyes were downcast as her handmaiden secured her hair and travelling clothes, ensuring that she was warm enough multiple times before Hope dismissed her.

She was pretty, prettier than you, with her dark hair and sharp eyes, but at this moment she appeared as if all the world was out for her.

“You spoke with Scott.” She said, stating it as a fact, rather than a question. You nodded in answer, waiting for her outburst. But it never came.

“He told you of our plans?”

“Yes.” You swallowed. “And I’m sorry, Hope, but I had to bring him to reason.”

You heard her dejected sigh. “It’s just as well that you did. It never would have worked anyway.”

You felt slightly offended on Scott’s part at her instant resignation. “You don’t know that.”

“What, do you think he would have whisked me away before the carriage departed without my father noticing?” She laughed bitterly. “I know this trip will end in only one thing.”

_Betrothal. Her and Sir Barton._

What an unhappy fate.

Your gaze was worried, as you tried to console her. “Well...he is rich, Sir Barton. And rich folk only want more money. If you bribe him enough, he might let you run away with Scott.”

Hope’s laugh was less bitter than before, and she rose from where she sat by the fire, embracing you.

“I will miss you, and your ridiculous jokes, Y/N.”

It was more appreciation than you would usually get from her in a month, and you embraced her back, hearing Scott’s words in the back of your mind.

_I wish it was different._


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you encounter Steve Rogers for the first time, in less than ideal circumstances.

At noon, you made your way to the empty courtyard, and down the winding pathway that led to Bruce’s small lodgings, at the edge of the grounds. The smoke billowed from the chimney of the cottage, into the now white sky above your head. Bruce was there.

Careful not to slip on the ice on the small paving stones, you knocked politely on his door. It was a few minutes before he opened it, wearing an apron and covered in flour.

“You’re busy. Shall I come back another time?” You said, looking concernedly into his flustered face.

“No, not at all. Come in.” He gestured for you to step inside, closing the door behind you. The cottage was narrow, and the beams low that framed the way to the parlour, but you were relatively short and able to fit through. Besides, you had been here a few times. You liked the quaintness of it better than the draughty castle.

Bruce drew up a chair and took your cloak and scarf, sighing pitifully at them and hanging them up. “Those aren’t enough to keep you warm, you know.”

“As you’ve said before.” You remarked, slightly amused. “What have you been doing?”

Bruce looked around suddenly at the mess of bowls and spoons and the large heap of dough on the cherry-wood table.

“I’m sorry. It’s so untidy.” He apologised, and you knew it wouldn’t be the first time. “I was making fruit-bread, and I hoped you might stay a little longer to see it done.”

You nodded. “Of course. It would probably bake faster in the oven, though.”

Bruce reddened. “Yes, you’re right.”

He placed the dough onto a small tray, and slid it into the small oven in the corner, over the flames where it would soon turn golden. You smiled and helped him make the tea, reassuring him as he profusely apologised for his poor manners. It didn’t seem to matter that you had been friends for years, because he would always be the same. Bumbling, nervous Bruce.

But now he was quiet and contemplative as he sat opposite you. You had told him about Scott’s plan to marry Hope, and how you had to be the one to dissuade him. “

I know you don’t like him, but…” you trailed off, the end of your sentence running away into the warm air of the kitchen.

He shook his head. “If she truly loved him, they shouldn’t have been separated.”

Your brow creased into a frown. “Then, do you think what I did was wrong?”

Bruce was quick to put your mind at rest. “No. No, you were trying to save him, and her, from your uncle. But I think they will find their way to each other, in the end.”

You could only hope, but Bruce always believed. He had a faithful temperament, even after what he had been through in the past. You talked for a long time, after that, of Lord Barton and his son, Sir Clint Barton. You had met Sir Barton once, a while ago, when he was introduced to Hope at a ball you had both attended. You barely ever went to them now.

It had been hosted by the frivolous Lord Stark, who lived in the city. He was a renowned dandy and looking back, you had no idea how your uncle had ever acquiesced for you to attend. Perhaps it was his wealth - but then, he had been a sworn bachelor, a rich merchant who dealt in silver and iron from the northern coasts of Spain and France.

You discussed the future - how long it would be before your uncle got fed up of you wasting space in his castle and married you off to a stuffy Earl or Duke, if you were lucky. Bruce seemed to pale at the thought.

“Don’t worry,” you reassured, “I’m not going anywhere.” But of that, you could not be so sure. As you knew that Hope could never marry who she truly loved, you knew that you would not live here forever. You would not spend the rest of eternity on long walks around the grounds, visiting Bruce, helping Pietro with the horses or gossiping with Wanda. It had been your childhood, but not for much longer.

It was dark outside, and evening was casting murky shades onto the windows panes. Long before had you eaten his fruit-bread, and said you would take your leave, and he agreed, saying that he would accompany you back to the castle.

But you had strayed onto another topic, just like a maiden strays from the path to pick a bunch of pretty flowers in a children’s tale, and lost track of time itself.

“I really must go.” You said.

Bruce shifted uncomfortably. “Yes. I'm sorry for keeping you so long. Your friends will be wondering where you are.”

There was concern in his voice, and you knew how much he feared Pym’s wrath if he learned that he had kept you. Having you dragged into it would just make him more uneasy.

“Don’t fret, it isn’t supper time yet.” You said, rising from where you sat. You had secretly wanted to stay in his cottage, with its cosy fire and small rooms, but nothing of the sort would ever be allowed. Before Bruce could open the door, however, there was a sudden noise.

A screeching of metal on stone. Heavy breathing.

Your heart began to pound, and you stared at Bruce in alarm. He drew his hand away from the door, shaking as he retrieved the nearest defence he could find - a poker, stone cold, that was meant for the fire. But it was long and sharp, and was better than nothing.

The breathing grew louder, almost wheezing, before there was a strangled yell and the thud of a body falling to the ground. You had only begun to start remembering to breathe again when the door was pulled open, and a figure silhouetted in the darkness.

You pulled back, frightened, and Bruce brandished the poker desperately at the black mass outside his door.

“Stay your hand.” A voice said, from the darkness.

“Who’s there?” Bruce said, attempting to harden his voice. You rushed to retrieve the candle from the side table, and held the light up so that the voice could have a face. You forgot how to breathe.

It was a young man, blond haired, wearing a cloak thicker and heavier than any wool you had seen in these parts.Beneath it you glimpsed glinting metal, a gilded sword, and a wide chest plate. An ugly blue bruise was blooming on his jaw. You gestured behind him, to the body on the floor. 

Words seemed to have failed Bruce, and you took his place as the spokesperson.

“What is the meaning of all this?” You spoke sharply, drawing your chin up.

The man bowed his head. “I am sorry to disturb you at such a time.” He said.

_Later than you thought, then_.

“But you are not safe here. There are mercenaries about.”

Your frown was incredulous. “Mercenaries? In these grounds?”

The man nodded gravely. “Yes, but it is not safe to speak here. I have dispatched of one, at the service of Lord Pym.”

“He is away.” You said, confused.

“Yes. There is more to tell you, but I must escort you back to the castle.”

You turned to Bruce. “You had better come too. If he was meant for you, then you aren’t safe here anymore.” Bruce tried to decline, you saw it on his face, but your expression brooked no argument. He quickly extinguished the fire in the parlour and barred the door with a pole, hurrying out into the night with you. The snow had begun to ease off.

Now only small snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, and the path in front of you was lit by the moon, hung round and yellow above. All the while you wondered who this man was, who had suddenly appeared to rescue you. You knew that though Bruce had scraped together his courage, he would have been no match against a mercenary. A poker against a sword. It was a joke that would be played in a royal court.

The man’s gait was strong, his paces quick and agile. He was broad-shouldered, and one hand rested vigilantly on the hilt of his sword. What if he was really a mercenary? Playing along, only to kill you both violently on the steps of the castle, your own home?

The thought was preposterous, but it stayed with you, and you hung back when you reached the castle, forcing him to enter ahead of you. You had only crossed the threshold when Wanda appeared, relief on her face as she embraced you.

“Lady Y/N. I was worried.” Wanda cried, clinging to you. You were more than a little surprised.

“Well, don’t be. I’m unharmed. See to it that Bruce and…” you faltered, looking at the man.

“Sir Rogers.” Wanda prompted, and you didn’t miss the small smile she flashed his way.

“...yes, see to it that they are prepared beds for the night. I will need to find out where Pietro and Dr Rhodes are.”

Now named, Sir Rogers stepped forward, clearing his throat. “They are safe. They are in the servant’s quarters, where no harm will come to them.”

Well, that was another thing dealt with.

“Forgive me, Lady Y/N.” He apologised. “I did not know your identity, before.”

“And would you have treated me differently?” You challenged. Before he could reply, you walked straight past him. “Come. I believe you have much to tell me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised that as I was writing this, I was putting in way more backstory than I had initially intended, but all the while having good fun doing it. I hope you guys don't mind that I kind of ran with the idea, and that you enjoyed that chapter. Stay tuned :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have dinner with Sir Rogers, only to be abruptly interrupted.

If Lord Pym knew that you were dining unchaperoned with a young, unmarried and unidentified man in your own quarters, perhaps he would go red with rage. Perhaps he would sentence Sir Rogers to exile from his grounds, upon pain of death.

For once, you found that you couldn’t care less.

It was a liberty that you had not been allowed in the past, to dine and talk with someone who wasn’t one of the faces you saw every day. To ask questions, not bound by the strong ties of etiquette, and to have the upper hand.

You examined him, blond hair haloed in the flickering firelight, his cheekbones seemed almost chiselled on his lightly-stubbled skin.

There was something almost familiar about him.

“You are very kind to insist that I dine here, Lady Y/N.” Sir Rogers said. His hand rested on the cup of wine, but he didn’t drink.

“You are welcome, of course.” You replied graciously. “But I will have to find out if I can trust you.”

Sir Rogers frowned. “My Lady, you and Lord Pym have my utmost allegiance-”

“So I’ve been told.” You stared at him. “But that doesn’t answer my question. Where have you come from? Why should I take your word for gospel, that there are mercenaries on these grounds?”

He glanced down at his lap. “I understand that it may seem like a tall tale.”

You eyed him, awaiting an explanation. Neither of you had eaten anything for some time.

“It’s a long story.” He said, finally.

“You are fortunate, then, that I have endless patience and time.”

Sir Rogers folded his napkin, and set it on the table. “Lord Pym, who I believe is your uncle, met me long ago, when I was a boy, and he was only a child. My father was part of an organisation that his father, too, had joined. It was established years ago to combat hostile forces, targeting specific people. They were run by a man named Baron von Strucker, who died a while back. Before he died, he entrusted his son with a project.”

“And these mercenaries are part of that project?”

He nodded. “You would be right. Mercenaries, some call them, but they are not what you think they are. They have been trained to kill since birth, bred for murder and worse.”

You wondered, as the low candlelight flickered, what could be worse than murder. “Now we have reason to believe that they are here.”

“What do you mean, ‘we’?” You asked, curiously.

“Your uncle and I, and the other members of our organisation. We call ourselves Shield.”

Your mouth twisted as you tried to keep your smile down. “And he just so happened to know that they would appear tonight?”

Again, Sir Rogers shook his head. His blue eyes were piercing. He was trying to make you look like a fool.

“I did. They originally planned to attack your uncle and cousin, but-”

There was a rattling at the window, as the wind buffeted outside. Snow fell thickly, unpleasantly, and the sky was filled with a strange, disembodied howling. Before either of you could say anything, there was a scream from downstairs.

Sir Rogers was up in seconds, drawing his sword. You found a dagger, and advanced towards the door behind him. Feeling your presence, he turned.

“Stay here. I have been entrusted to protect you.”

“What?” Your heart pumped in your ears. There was another scream, and you jolted. The dagger was a stick in your feeble hands.

“I was instructed to protect Lady Y/N. I didn’t know it was you, before.” He explained, quickly. “You must stay here, for your own safety.”

Knowing better than to argue, or ask questions, you kept your mouth shut. Backing into the corner of the room, you heard the blood-curdling clash of metal scraping on metal, and the sickening thud of a body tumbling down the stairs. There was another door to the room, and it crashed open as a cloaked and masked figure bounded into the room.

Breath catching in your throat, you forced yourself to move behind the table, still laden with untouched food and cups of wine.

A flash of white metal, and a sabre was shining in the firelight, long and brutal.

It was over in a matter of seconds- Sir Rogers came running into the room, a blur of blond hair, green fabric and muscled arms, taking out the figure in one powerful swing of his sword. All that could be heard was his panting breaths, and the scent of death hung in the air, a twisting corpse on the gallows.

“Wanda,” you pressed, knowing the scream was hers, “is she alright?”

Sir Rogers nodded, but didn’t elaborate. He was staring at you again, you realised. Where you were unnerved and confused, he was calm, collected.

In quick strides he was across the room, standing in front of you.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” His voice was quiet.

You offered him a small smirk. “I’m not the fainting type, thankfully.”

Before you knew what was happening, he was taking your hand in his, and your thoughts were invaded by warmth. How it was possible to feel a man’s strength just in the way he held your hand, you didn’t know.

“You’re trembling,” He murmured softly, and you could have sworn his grip tightened. And then you were pulling back, protecting yourself, still clutching the dagger.

“There is no need for panic.” Sir Rogers reassured, eyes following you as you righted the table, moving away from him towards the door.

“How did you know you needed to be here? How did my uncle know to tell you?” You were babbling, words not making sense, “if he suspected there to be any danger, he wouldn’t have left.”

“I was a protocol.” He said, as if it was a simple fact. His tone irked you.

“And what about my uncle, and Hope? How do I know that they are safe?”

“I’m waiting for word from my comrades.” Sir Rogers said, moving toward you slowly, as if he was afraid that you would lash out. You forgot how to breathe as he carefully, gently prised the dagger from your tight fingers, so close that you could see the silver thread embroidered into the lining of his cloak.

“Will you allow me to protect you, until your uncle and cousin return?” His question was purely open and honest, and not meant to provoke you. Somehow, it did just that.

“I don’t need protection.” You said, shortly. The moment was gone, dispersed into the air. “Kindly remove this body from my chambers.”

An amused smile graced his noble features. 

“As you wish, my lady.”

**

Wanda was smiling shakily at you.

“I promise, I’m fine.” It was in earnest. You weren’t a fool. She was braver than half of the people you knew.

“What happened, exactly?” Bruce asked. He stood behind you, where you all sat in Wanda’s room. Pietro sat beside her on the bed, holding her hand comfortingly.

“It all happened so quickly,” she said softly. “One minute I was coming to your room, to see if you were alright, my lady. And then the corridor was cold so suddenly, and this black, cloaked shape ran towards me- I screamed, but it passed right by me.”

An uneasy quiet permeated the room.

“Why, though?” Dr Rhodes muttered. “You were right there. Why not just attack you?”

“Rhodey.” Pietro said sharply.

“He’s right.” Wanda interrupted her brother, whose face was growing increasingly worried. “It was like I wasn’t even there.”

“And it went straight to your room?” Dr Rhodes turned to you. You nodded, eyes searching his face. You could see where this was going.

“Then there’s only one explanation.” He declared. “Lady Y/N is the target of these mercenaries. For whatever reason, they thirst for her blood.”

_Of course_.

Someone rapped at the door, and Pietro sat up, moving closer to Wanda. Bruce moved in front of you instantly.

_As if any mercenary would knock first._

“It’s Sir Rogers.” You rolled your eyes, calling to the the door, "enter."

But the man who walked into that room was certainly not Sir Rogers.

Everyone froze, not saying a word. It was only you who spoke into the shocked silence.

“Scott?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for the enthusiasm you guys have shown towards this story! I'm so glad you like it - I wasn't sure how it would go down. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger haha :)


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You greet your unexpected visitor with no little chagrin, and Steve reminisces on the past.

He should’ve known.

You were the niece of Lord Pym, after all, and he was infamous for being stubborn, and difficult to deal with. The problem was that if he failed to save your life, Lord Pym would surely take his.

Steve paced the flagstones of the main hall, his fingers running over his shield. It bore a royal blue star on a crest, etched into silver. The red had long faded into rust, which he had brushed off, as if it meant nothing more to him. As if it was only a reminder of his past, not a haunting memory.

Closing his eyes, Steve still saw the battlefield. Men cried out, as they fell like dominoes, one by one. They were no more than tin soldiers, crushed under the harsh grasp of violence. The rain lashed at his face, the mud yielding beneath honest men’s feet, forcing them into a helpless crawl-faces bloodied and bruised, unrecognisable. People he had known. Friends.

_How can it be so long ago, and feel like it happened yesterday?_

The ache ripped once more at his chest, and he took a deep breath. If he treated it as nothing more than a nightmare, would it go away? He could only hope.

But you?

He remembered you.

You had been young, your hair braided and face light with glee as you played and talked with your cousin. He had only just come into this strange, new world, and seeing such familiarity, such closeness made his heart burn. As if he could ever have something like that.

That was before _shield_ found him, of course. Before that, he didn’t really have a purpose, aimlessly drifting between the prison of his mind and the bracing reality of what lay beyond it. In these in-between moments, he still lingered in that place.

**

Your words still echoed in the air, and Scott still waited in the doorway, red and out of breath. He had obviously run to get there.

“What are you doing here?” You thundered, stalking towards him and dragging him into the room. Snowflakes spotted his hair and shoulders.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to wander around outside?”

“I didn’t know!” He protested. “Not until she told me.”

“Who?” You demanded.

“She had red hair. That’s all I can remember.” Scott’s brow creased. “There were others with her. I thought I should warn you.”

Your frustration grew, painting the room with confusion and fear.

“What others?”

“I only saw them momentarily.” Scott was shaking his head. “I'm not sure how many there were."

You cast your eyes to the heavens, as if you would find some answer to all this confusion there. It didn’t come.

“If I could interject,” Dr Rhodes said, directing his question at Scott, “did they look dangerous?”

“No,” Scott said, “no, they seemed pretty harmless.”

“They _seemed_ harmless?!” You exploded, feeling agitation build inside you -

“I think you may be overreacting, my lady.” Wanda told you, her voice calm. “Perhaps we should alert Sir Rogers.”

“I’ll go.” Said Bruce, before anyone could say anything. You sank back into a chair, the wood painfully hard beneath you. All you wanted to do was collapse onto your bed and sleep for centuries.

Dr Rhodes hastily made his excuses, and left the room, telling Pietro and Wanda to keep an eye on you. Not that you needed it, or anything. Scott, having sensed the tension in the room, followed quickly at Bruce’s heels. It wasn’t that you didn’t get along - you had known Scott since you were a child, that wasn’t the problem - it was everything.

A wave of fear overtook you where you sat, and you trembled.

It was mounting and spiralling.

Questions, and questions. Blank spaces instead of answers. Ice in place of the warmth of company.

Exhaustion stabbed at your eyelids, and your head drooped forward. The room seemed to darken, spinning in and out of focus. You didn’t hear your friends leave the room one by one to allow you some peace, or the concerned mutterings exchanged amongst them. All you heard was the gentle crackling of the hearth fire, lulling you into a restless slumber.

**

Steve had still been in the main hall when they came. Almost instantaneously, he drew his sword, and his shield for defence - before a smile spread across his face.

At the sight of the approaching man, dressed in the same armour as him, he moved forwards, embracing him.

“Took you long enough,” he murmured, clapping him on the back. Drawing back, the other man fixed him with a steady gaze. “We were held up. The boy’s with me.”

Steve nodded, and after a pause, “should I be worried?”

“Only for the mercenaries.” The man said. “They won’t know what’s coming for them.”

The two men turned as they heard fast footsteps echo down the stairs. Scott burst into the main hall, angling straight for Steve.

“Sir Rogers, forgive me - I came to tell you, there are intruders, I’m not sure who or how many-”

He faltered, catching sight of the other man. “Who is this?”

“Sir Sam Wilson. He’s one of shield.”

Sam frowned at his friend. “Don’t go telling that around.”

“This is Scott Lang. He can be trusted, I know him.” Steve reassured. Scott appeared as if he had just been given the holy grail, a satisfied smile creeping onto his lips.

“I didn’t dare dream I would one day be validated by the captain-”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You couldn’t kiss up to him more if you tried, Lang.”

Before Scott could respond, Steve caught sight of Dr Rhodes, the handmaiden and her brother coming down the stairs. Dr Rhodes smiled as he greeted Sam and Steve in turn, much to Scott’s surprise. There was no end to it, that night.

“You know each other?”

Steve just looked at Rhodes, knowing that it was up to him whether or not he wanted to reveal his truth.

“Yes. They are my...accomplices.”

_Not so forthcoming, then_. Sam informed him that the surrounding area of the castle was secure, much to his relief. The gales were blowing in at the northern gate, and they seemed to deter the interlopers. He could hear the wind even now, wailing in the trees and howling through the stained-glass windows. There would be more blood that night, he was sure of it. Steve could almost taste it, metallic on his tongue.

Without really knowing why, he prayed that it wouldn’t be yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!  
> hope you liked this instalment, trying to make it believable and accurate and stuff, but the timelines are quite hard to manage so please forgive me for any mishaps or inaccuracies. i think you know who the red haired person Scott encountered is, but she deserves her own entrance which i will save for either chapter five or six.   
> as always, i would love to hear your thoughts, and thanks for the kudos people have left :)


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you discover a secret about your family.

Someone was saying your name.

You awakened from your drowsy state of sleep, to see a figure knelt in front of the chair. Rubbing your eyes, you realised it was Sir Rogers. For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other - you glimpsed flecks of grey in his blue eyes, the slight bump in his nose. The world stood still.

Finding yourself again, you sat up. He jolted slightly at your sudden movement, clearing his throat.

“My lady-”

“What of the intruders?” You asked, suddenly. “Scott came to tell us-”

“They aren’t intruders,” he said, seeming slightly offended. “They’re my fr-accomplices. Part of shield. If I am permitted, I would introduce them to you.”

His words reached your ears too late. As you were the sole remainder of nobility in the castle, you were tasked with welcoming guests - something you hadn't planned on. Sir Rogers tried to help you get up from the chair, but you fixed him with a glare, getting up yourself.

He stepped back, his eyes focusing on a point just above your head. You moved to the looking glass, pretending to fix your hair, but you were only buying more time to think. This whole plan - Sir Rogers and his ‘accomplices’ from shield coming to ‘protect’ you at the request of your uncle, the otherworldly mercenaries that you weren’t sure were human coming to kill you specifically - it didn’t add up.

In your periphery, Sir Rogers lurked, but he wasn’t aware of the shadows you imagined there in his place. 

“Lady Y/N, this is Sir Sam Wilson, and my other accomplice-”

The great wooden door blew open, as a figure came barrelling towards you. You braced yourself, thinking it was another attack.

“I’m sorry-” The blur morphed into a person, a man younger than Sir Rogers - he was a boy, you thought to yourself, with bright eyes and a flushed face. You watched as Sir Rogers sent him a glare, and he ducked his head down.

“And who are you?” You asked the boy.

He glanced quickly at Sir Rogers and Sir Wilson, as if for conformation, and then back to you. He made an awkward bow, his sword coming dangerously close to falling out of its sheath.

“I’m Peter...Parker.” He said, voice breathless. “Peter Parker.”

“He has yet to be knighted.” Sir Wilson interjected, pointedly. You nodded, still watching the boy. He looked like he wasn’t a day from sixteen.

“I see. Do you bring news of my uncle and cousin? I was informed that you would.”

Sir Wilson nodded. “They managed to escape the mercenaries. They are almost arrived at Lord Barton’s house.”

You released a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. At least they were safe. That was all you could ask for.

And you? Now you had half of shield swarming your grounds, in the name of protecting you, and you were left to handle them on your own.

“That is good news.” You said, finally. “And will they be safe there?”

“We have sufficient reason to believe, yes.” Sir Wilson told you, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes travelled towards the open door. You wondered, and not for the first time, what was really out there.

With Sir Wilson, Sir Rogers and Peter stationed at different places in the castle, you could at last breathe a sigh of relief. You had grown used to solitude, in many forms - in the way you dismissed Wanda earlier than usual on the nights you wanted to be alone, in the way that Hope barely ever sought your company because she preferred Scott’s, in the way that Dr Rhodes always seemed too busy to talk to you - and more often than not, you welcomed it. But perhaps, this night wasn’t the night for solitude.

Scott trailed at your heels like a lost puppy, speaking in awed, hushed tones of the knights. Well, at least he had found another focus. You, on the other hand, had another purpose.

Where the corners and passageways of the castle seemed darker, you were filled with a yearning for answers, a nagging curiosity, making your heart pound and your throat parched from thirst. Scott was still chatting mindlessly behind you as you slipped into the passageway that led to your father’s study, but you had tuned out his voice long ago.

Dust clouds flew into the stale air as you turned over books and papers, still strewn haphazardly across the desk. Your nose wrinkled, tingling from the years of neglect and accumulated debris.

“Y/N?”

Scott’s words had fallen short. It wasn’t like you to be so frenzied.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for something,” you mumbled, not really hearing him. It had to be here somewhere.

You found it hard to believe that your father had never had any knowledge of Lord Pym’s associations with shield. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you turned to the shelves, pulling out books that hadn’t been touched since you were a child. The yellowed pages swelled with secrets, abundant information you had loved discovering when the world was still young and sweet. 

There was a shelf that didn’t seem as undisturbed as the others, the covering of dust and cobwebs not so thick on the spines of tomes. You moved towards it. When you took out a particularly heavy volume of your mother’s treasured encyclopedia, the pages adorned with diagrams and her careful, analytic notes in the margins, a piece of parchment fluttered to the floor.

Bending down, you examined it. It was just what you had been searching for. The same crest that was embroidered on Sir Rogers’ shield was stamped in wax on the edge, telling you it was originally a letter.

_What you ask is nothing but your due. Your daughter is young in years, and does not know of the horrors that the world will hold for her. She will be granted with protection, if you can offer me the price that can only be the standard for this promise_.

That told you all you needed to know.

Your parents had asked shield for protection. That was the ‘protocol’ Sir Rogers had mentioned, the reason that he was here for you. That somehow, they had known you would need it.

You leaned back against the desk, the solid wood a comforting support.

They were part of shield.

You weren’t aware of Scott’s presence beside you, until he touched you lightly on the shoulder, saying your name. In reply, you handed him the letter. He must have read it a couple of times through, because it was an eternity later when he finally spoke.

“I didn’t know.”

The words he uttered into the gloom echoed those that were rampaging in your mind. _I didn’t know._

_Neither did I_.

“They wanted to keep it a secret for some reason.” You said. “Sir Rogers wasn’t lying after all.”

“It’s not so bad, is it?” He reasoned. “You have the protection that some of us will never be granted.”

There was unmistakable jealousy in his voice, and you forgot that he had seen loneliness and heartbreak you couldn’t yet fathom.

“It was at a cost.” You said, almost to yourself. “Whatever price they paid, they did it so I could be safe.”

And deep down, you knew what that price was. The terrible truth that you tried to bury in your heart.

“I really miss them,” you said, voice breaking. The silence of the study was suddenly too oppressing, the books no longer reassuring but threatening to spill too many sensitive secrets you wished you never knew.

Scott slid an arm around your shoulders, saying nothing.

“My lady,” Sir Rogers was coming towards you, as you made to go up the stairs to your chambers. You wanted to sleep, and wake up in a different world. “My lady, the uppermost boundaries of the castle are secure. Are there any hidden entrances that could be vulnerable?”

Exhaustion stabbed at your eyelids. “I...I’m not certain, but I need to get-”

He frowned as you gestured to the stairs, and it was all of a sudden a lot harder to move under his intense gaze.

“I need to rest.” You exhaled. “Please ensure I am not disturbed.”

“I understand, but we need to know where the castle is weak to intruders. Are there any places where we could have access a map? A study, perhaps?”

The thought of going back there made you shudder. “My uncle’s quarters, maybe.”

“They are locked, my lady.”

_Spare me of this_.

You pressed cool hands to your eyes, trying to stop them from closing. “I am not sure, then. I will look when I wake.”

Sir Rogers stopped you with a hand on your arm. “Allow me to stand guard as you sleep. We are not safe until every entrance is made stable.”

Alive to his touch, you stared at him. “I do not want your protection.”

It was a lie.

His answering stare was cold. “Very well."

Without another word, you shook your arm out of his strong grasp and strode away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Wow, that turned out a lot more angsty than I thought it would. Hope you don't mind :)


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you can't sleep, and make a detour to your parent's old quarters.

It was a long night.

Forceful gales knocked at the windows, and the snow had turned to heavy sleet. You could hear blood-chilling screams in the distance, preventing you from getting the sleep you so desperately wanted. Before long, you lit a taper and drew back the covers, having given up entirely on sleep.

**

You wished you could say that you were strong, in the face of adversity. Just once, you could be a hero and not the patronised and ridiculed heroine. Just once, you could hold your dagger in strong hands that did not waver at the first glimpse of danger.

_Courage is not a lack of fear, but doing the right thing regardless of it_. The words materialised in the air that hung before you, weighted with your own anxiety. Someone had said them to you once, but you weren’t quite sure who. And perhaps, your facade did not give away how you truly felt on the inside. A place where you weren’t strong or courageous.

Nevertheless, you found yourself walking the castle restlessly, as if you were seeking something out. The walls echoed your endless thoughts, whispering the deepest fears of your conscience into the gloom.

In the past, you had whispered things into the dark. Telling the spirits that lurked there that you were not afraid of the din. You were not afraid of the shadows. Now, you weren’t so sure.

It was cold, in this part of the castle, and long untouched - it was empty most of the time, its occupants dead long ago. Dusty, the torches solid to the touch in their brackets. The space before you was illuminated by a single candle, the flame flickering precariously before you. It was, perhaps, irresponsible of you to be out by yourself at this time, but you couldn’t stay away.

A mouse skittered past you, making you jump. There was creaking and howling in the distance - the snow and wind buffeting at the ancient battlements, no longer in use, but the only noise you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears.

Was that sweep of your skirts a murderer creeping up behind you? Was that prickling of your skin a thousand spiders come to feast on your skin? That strange noise a bat, come to peck out your eyes?

You swallowed, covering the candle with your hand. How could you be so scared? These used to be your parents’ quarters. So many times you had run down these halls, laughing and smiling. These halls were safe, not home to terrible foes.

Your futile attempts at reassuring yourself were just that - futile. Your shoulders shrank back into your cloak. _Which way did I come?_

There was no way of knowing in this murky dark. How do I get out? Heart pounding, you whirled widely, trying to make some sense of direction. Suddenly you couldn’t remember where you had turned right, and where left. There was a sudden rush of air beside your head, and you gasped -

A hulking figure, coming towards you -

The candle shook in your grasp, blowing out, as you tripped over your skirts, trying to get away -

The harsh, slate floor was coming up quickly to meet your face-

Hands grabbed your waist, pinning you against a wall. You struggled, kicked, shielding your face. A rough snarling in your ear, and the flash of metal - you were back in your chambers, cowering behind a table, praying for someone to help you. _Not this time_.

Gathering your strength, you kicked forwards with all your might, and the creature - it couldn’t possibly be human - grunted, dumbfounded for a moment. You took that second of surprise to pull out your dagger and thrust it blindly forwards, until it met the flesh of the creature’s neck.

It yelped, gargling blood and tissue that it couldn’t swallow, and stumbled backwards, knocking against a wall.

If you had been trembling before, it was nothing compared to now. It was almost as if a thousand icy gales had blown in, rendering you freezing and desperate for any semblance of warmth. You couldn’t move. The wall was comforting behind you, a shield from the outside, as you stared at the unmoving black mass in front of you.

Your hands scrambled to find purchase, something to hold onto. But there was nothing, only your blood soaked hands, and stuttering breaths. Bile rose in your throat, as you realised what you had done - the overwhelming urge to throw up overtook you -

But when you hunched over, retching over the floor, there was nothing but dry air coming from your mouth. Dry air, and the anguished sounds of fear.

And you were running again, seeing the corridor filled with the same creatures, all snarling and wretched, horrific figments of your fevered imagination. There were spurs at your sides, forcing you to race faster, faster until you felt you were a blur -

The breath was knocked from you as you collided with the inevitable enemy. But you were ready, procuring your dagger, still covered with the blood from the last one who had tried to counter you.

“Wait,” a voice whispered softly. Different hands, strong and warm, reached forwards to hold yours.

Nothing came out when you tried to speak. You hadn’t even seen the candle’s bright light, illuminating Sir Roger’s face in front of you. He opened his mouth, and you were sure he was about to scold you, but then he saw the thick, oil-like blood that coated your hands.

“What happened to you?” He asked gently.

You shook your head. You couldn’t speak of what you had done, or even think about it, without the sick feeling rising to your throat. Wordlessly, Sir Rogers guided you, a strong hand on the small of your back, out of the maze of corridors. If any mercenaries had been lurking, they didn’t come for you.

**

He led you, dream-like, into your chambers, pulling up a chair and sitting you down next to the fire. Light danced in the flames, shapes and figures, but you were in too much of a trance to see them. He found a bowl, and filled it to the brim with hot water, kneeling at your feet. You couldn’t look at him, only offer your hand when he reached for it, cleansing it with water and soap, washing it clean of the evidence of your deed.

You weren’t sure how long you were there, staring as he cleaned your hands. He didn’t scrub or redden your hands, only used the gentlest of touches, until your skin was free of blood. The water swam with the residue, and he disposed of it quickly.

Sir Rogers once again knelt at your feet.

“Lady,” he began, “there is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Isn’t there?” You replied, noticing the hopelessness in your voice. “I killed.”

“It would’ve killed you, if you hadn’t done anything.”

“Perhaps,” you shrugged, feeling your nonchalant old self lingering at the fringes of your mind, “but I’m not proud of it.”

He shook his head. “That’s an honourable thing. So many men delight in the harm they deal, but here is a lady who is frightened, but able to defend herself. You fared much better than others of your station.”

“No thanks to you.” you smiled slightly.

Sir Rogers laughed wryly. “Yes, and I’m sorry about that. But I was under the impression that you didn’t need my protection.”

“I’m starting to think that was a foolish thing to say.”

Sir Rogers just looked up at you, a smile pulling boyishly at his lips. He was only inches away, his blonde hair showing strands of copper in the firelight.

“Why don’t you sit?” You said. “I would hate to see you strain your neck.”

He looked as if he was about to accept your invitation, but he stopped himself, shaking his head. “I’m worried that there are mercenaries within the castle. The one you killed could’ve had companions. I won’t be long.”

“I understand.”

“Be on your guard, my lady.” Sir Rogers, taking one of your hands in his. “As I know you will.”

You revelled in his warmth, and his solemn gaze. You had never seen eyes so serious and blue, precious cerulean dancing in the firelight. 

"Thank you, Sir.” You said.

“You can call me Steve, if you would like.” His smile was bashful, transformed in an instant. You rewarded him with one of your own, his name whispering itself through the caverns of your mind. _Steve, Steve, Steve_.

**

Your eyes were beginning to grow heavier with each hour. But something was jumping inside your chest. Steve had advised you against leaving, for now, and had barricaded one of the entrances so that you could be safe. The other door was left unlocked, so that Wanda could come in whenever you needed her, or when She slept soundly in the bedroom down the hall, and Pietro beside her on the floor.

You could almost see him stalking the halls, sword in hand - reflexes quick, ready to fight whatever enemy came his way.

It was a comforting thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to say thanks for the kudos people are leaving on this story, and the one I recently posted, Merlin and the problematic tavern. If you haven't read it yet, check it out :) if you haven't already guessed, I'm a merlin fan.  
> as usual, I wasn't planning on this level of angst/mystery for this story, but i suppose this is the way it's going to go, and I'm alright with that. Hope you enjoy it too :)  
> if everything goes to plan, the next chapter should be up soon, perhaps on christmas, but please don't despair if you don't see it in the next few days. I'm trying my hardest but this is a busy time of year.   
> On that note, have a wonderful Christmas (if you celebrate it). :)


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You run into an unexpected visitor

At the break of dawn, everything seemed different.

Snow blanketed the surrounding courtyards and fields of the castle, and the trees stood as sentinels, branches bare to the withering elements. Winter had truly arrived at your homestead, and with it, a break in the peace you had come to expect from it. You bathed and dressed early in the morning, before the sun had risen, pale and wan over the hills, and retrieved the key to your uncle’s quarters.

The plans to the castle were something he kept close to him at all times - that way, only he knew of the many concealed doors, passageways and avenues, and all the hidden entrances. At least, that’s what he thought.

A small smile stretched your lips, as you picked the lock of his safe cabinet, where you knew he kept all his treasured documents. This wasn’t the first time you’d invaded his personal quarters - you preferred to think of it as clever thinking, but it wasn’t going to change the fact that you’d been doing it since you were small. Golden hairpin in hand, you leafed through his papers, finding the scrolls that held the illustrations of the castle.

You unravelled it carefully, trying to figure out which plan it was, when a sudden voice from the doorway startled you.

"I'm not sure what the Lord Pym would think of you in his personal quarters, but I assure you it's not anything good."

You swivelled, dagger in hand, only for the woman to raise her hand in a sign of peace. She was dressed in hunting clothes, light silver armour that covered her chest and upper arms, a gauntlet shot with gold on the knuckles on one hand and a plain black leather glove on the other. Where there were normally skirts, her upper thighs were protected by what were known as _cuisses_ , and her knees by _poleyns_ \- guards for the sensitive joints of the knee. Her curious smile stole your focus.

"Lady Y/N. I have been waiting to meet you."

You fixed her with a steady gaze, befitting of someone of your station. Little did you know, you were one and the same.

"Who are you?"

"Lady Natalia Romanova, of the Barton household."

Your brow creased; Lord Barton did not have a wife any longer, and this woman was much too young and his grief still too great for her to be his new companion - and Sir Barton, his son, was betrothed to your cousin.

"I do not underst-" Footsteps coming up the spiral staircase took the words out of your mouth, and all of a sudden he was there - a grin on his handsome face, shining eyes flickering between you and the woman.

"Ah, Natasha. I see you have met Lady Y/N."

_Natasha. That is not how she introduced herself_.

"We were just becoming acquainted."

Steve nodded. "Natasha is the half sister of Sir Barton, your cousin's betrothed. She is one of shield, one of my worthy comrades.” This sentence he finished with a fond smile in her direction.

The woman made a mock bow. "I am sworn to protect you and your family."

"I see." You lifted your chin, turned to Steve. “The plans are here.”

“Thank you, my lady. My knights and I will see to it that the entrances are examined for any vulnerabilities.”

You left your eyes devoid of emotion, and you weren’t sure why. Something in his gaze stirred a feeling deep inside your chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Good.” Without another word, you swept from the room.

**

You didn’t know why you were being like this. Perhaps it was something in the way Steve regarded Natasha - so familiarly, as if he knew her well. Perhaps it was the way he called her by what you only presumed to be a nickname. Perhaps it was her enigmatic way of speaking, the way she leaned effortlessly against the side of the doorway, as if being in your halls was nothing to her. Her feminine, mysterious appearance would certainly lure many men and women, no matter their station. It irked you, built a frustrated anger that you weren’t used to.

You longed to be outside, to walk the grounds of the castle, through the empty courtyards and terraces, through the snow-covered gardens, to feel the silence of winter around you. But after the previous night’s escapades into your parent’s old quarters, and what had happened there, you somehow couldn’t see Steve and the others allowing you anywhere far. It was what you hated - confinement. Though Lord Pym didn’t approve of it, you went out walking a lot, sometimes with Bruce or Wanda, or through the forest on your horse, or just alone, along the banks of the river.

It would be frozen by now, solid to the touch. You imagined the watery sun rising to shine pale light onto the surface, pulling the hood of your cloak from your head to feel the cold wind on your face. You imagined Steve beside you, staring off into the distance, and before you could stop yourself, you pictured his laugh as you slipped together on the ice, the sound coming deep from within his chest, that you clung to as your feet slid this way and that -

“Y/N.”

You looked up, knowing only one person in the castle who would address you so informally like that.

Scott stared back at you, his face blanched white.

“Did you know she was here?”

“No.” You said, and carried on walking. Scott tripped over himself to keep up with you.

“I didn’t even know he had a half sister. How could he have a half sister?” He rambled. “She’s going to marry into a family we barely know anything about.”

“It’s probably not something they want people to know.”

Scott fell silent, but you were still searching her face in your mind. Power was written into some people’s features, you could sense it as soon as you saw her, but there was something else. Something hidden, that you couldn’t quite trust, no matter how she had sworn her protection.

“Do they know each other, Sir Rogers and Lady Natalia?” He asked you.

“Yes. They are familiar.” You replied, not bothering to disguise the scorn in your voice. That was when you felt Scott’s eyes on you. You knew what was coming.

“Are you jealous, Y/N?”

You had already readied your answer, and it hovered on the tip of your tongue, ready to spit itself out in a whirl of haste and incredulity. You didn’t say anything, at first, because you knew there was some truth to his accusation. But your silence would only confirm his doubts.

“You think me capable of such a childish notion?”

“Yes.” Scott was laughing at you, and you knew you’d lost. “Yes, I do, when it comes to someone like Sir Rogers.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe I am. What does that signify?” '

“Nothing, nothing at all.” Scott was still smiling to himself as you turned your back, going to your chambers.

**

Steve sifted through the plans on a desk in the main hall, pretending to examine the charts and sketches of the castle. He wanted to go to you, ask you why you were so cold around him. He wanted to know what made you spurn him when he tried to get close to you. Initially, he had thought that being your protector would be a simple matter of guarding your chambers and fighting the mercenaries. But you were hot-headed, and impatient - your rendezvous to the uninhabited part of the castle had shown that perhaps he didn’t need to protect you from the mercenaries. Perhaps he needed to protect you from yourself. 

Suddenly, Peter burst into the room. It seemed that was the only way he knew how to enter places.

“Sir Rogers,” He began, already panting-

Steve waved his hand, not looking up. “I’m busy at the moment. Perhaps we could talk later.”

“No, Sir,” Peter was shaking his head when Steve looked up in surprise. “I have received a missive.”

“A missive?”

“Yes. From the Lord Stark.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. It had been a long time since he had heard that name spoken so openly. “I see. What was it about?”

“He said that the Baron’s son has doubled his forces, and more mercenaries are to be sent here and to Lord Barton’s household.”

He felt a shiver course through him. “When?”

“Tonight. At dusk.” Peter said, somehow looking apologetic. After a moment of silence, Steve nodded and walked towards the young apprentice.

“Thank you, Peter.” He began to walk towards the door.

Peter frowned at him. “Where are you going?”

“To meet these forces in the flesh.” Steve felt the boy’s eyes on him, the incredulous expression on his face.

“You’re going alone?” Steve turned to him, shrugged.

“Unless there are any willing to come with me, then yes. This is something I will face alone.”

“But we’ll come with you.” Peter professed. “We all will.”

“But what about the lady Y/N?” Steve countered, his eyes softening slightly. He couldn’t imagine you here, all alone, with your servants for company. “Someone must stay here. I won’t have this castle unprotected. Not after what we swore, not after-”

“I’ll go with you.” Peter’s abrupt answer surprised him.

“I didn’t know that you were so eager.” He paused. “But with all due respect, Peter, I must have someone with greater experience.”

“I can fight!” Peter protested. “And who would you rather have protecting Lady Y/N? Me, or Sir Wilson?”

Sometimes, the boy was infuriatingly right.

**

You were just about to try and negotiate with Steve about going on a walk - the lack of fresh air was plaguing you, and so far, no more mercenaries had threatened your grounds. It appeared that they balked at the first image of daylight, and you were thankful.

Fixing the sleeves of your dress, you walked into the great hall, only to encounter Dr Rhodes. He stood next to the table, holding a crystal glass vial up to the daylight streaming in from the stained glass windows.

“Doctor,” you stopped in surprise.

He inclined his head. “Lady Y/N. What can I do for you? I hope that you are faring well, after your ordeal last night.”

You felt a flush stain your face. “I’m looking for Sir Rogers, actually. Where can I find him?”

Dr Rhodes frowned. “You haven’t heard?”

You gritted your teeth, sensing that this wasn’t going to be anything good.

“Tell me.” Dr Rhodes put down the vial he had been examining. It was filled with a clear, transparent liquid, which swirled thickly in the glass like honey.

“He and the boy, I forget his name, are departing for the outer reaches of the area. They have received a missive that the mercenaries are doubled in size, and that they prepare to strike tonight on the surrounding villages.”

You could have scoffed, but held your tongue. Dr Rhodes looked perfectly serious, and as far as everyone else was concerned, the creatures held a great threat to your lands, and you were one of the main targets. But you were no longer afraid. Instead, you chose your words carefully.

“Are they departed?” He shook his head, and that was all you needed in the way of an answer.

You turned on your heel and hastened to the stables, ignoring the fact that you were now obviously outdoors and unarmed, having left your dagger in your chambers. Rounding the corner, you spotted Steve and Peter preparing their horses and weapons, conversing about something. Steve hadn’t seen you coming, but Peter turned before you even made it into their stall.

You leaned against the side, ignoring the straw and grain that crunched beneath your feet. “Leaving so soon?”

Steve jumped; his hand instantly going to the hilt of his sword.

“Y/N. I didn’t know you were here.” He looked you up and down, eyes hardening. “What are you doing outside?”

“That’s Lady Y/N to you.” You snapped. “I would appreciate it if you would explain yourself.”

“We’re going to scout the outer villages. There is help needed there, I expected you would understand.” Steve said, sternly.

“Not about that.” You shook your head. “You told Dr Rhodes about what happened, last night. I had thought I had your secrecy."

There was a quick, almost imperceptible crease in his brow, before he realised what you were talking about.

“I felt that he needed to know, in case you took a turn for the worse.” He spoke softly. Your eyebrows shot up.

“A turn for the worse? Perhaps I am nothing but a delicate fairy to you, then, who needs to be looked after all the time?”

“That’s not what I-”

“I suppose you thought that coming here would be easy for you. That I would be some swooning maiden, ready to accept your terms.” You glared at him, feeling Peter’s head whip between you.

Steve took a step towards you.

“I didn’t just come here for you. There are others that need my help, our help. They don’t have the luxury of living in castles, or being accompanied by friends.” His voice was low, sombre. “They have nobody. And here you are, believing that other people exist purely for your service. That you can find all the answers you want for free.”

He stepped closer, eyes locked on yours. “Everything in this world comes at a price, Y/N, which some people can’t afford to pay. I would not think you to be so selfish, to not understand that.”

You moved backwards, your face stung red. Without another word, or even so much a glance in your direction, he turned to Peter and they mounted their horses. A beat of hooves against the earth, and they were vanishing into the distance, before you could say a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry this is up later than it should be. Hope you all had a great Christmas (if you celebrate it). As I was writing this I realised that it's the first time i've ever written a proper AU, so it's a lot harder than i thought it would be. anyway, i know this chapter is a bit angsty and argumentative but you'll soon see why that was necessary. Chapter eight should be up soon but I'm sick at the moment so it may be slightly delayed.   
> hope you enjoyed :) as always, i would love to hear your thoughts.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you think about Steve's words, and discover an unlikely alliance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here it is...chapter eight. I'm sorry it's been so long, hope you enjoy :)

“You’re quiet.” Peter observed, riding close behind Steve.

They were taking the path through the woods, where the many branches allowed them shade and protection from the mercenaries. They were planning to meet some more of shield - strength in numbers, after all.

When Steve didn’t say anything, Peter persisted. “Are you really angry with Lady Y/N?”

He was about to be annoyed, but there was something about the blatant curiosity in his tone, the innocence, that Steve only sighed.

“If you want the honest answer, I’m not.”

“You were a bit callous,” Peter admitted, sidling closer to him, “you called her selfish.”

Steve wasn’t really listening. All he could think about was your face - the hurt had been evident, written in your eyes, before it had turned to stone.

Perhaps you hated him now. But he couldn’t figure out why he cared.

**

You didn’t return to the castle, after they left. With Steve and Peter gone, there were fewer people left to tell you your place.

Fresh snow covered the winding path to Bruce’s cottage, and you gingerly picked your way through it, unsure whether ice lay beneath the white powder. Once you reached the front of his lodgings, you checked for damage, satisfied to find none but a broken window and a few overturned books and blankets. Leaving the cottage, you took the path to the left, staying close to the carefully repaired wall, and the ferns that hung low over your head.

The path was well-trodden, but you were still cautious, having learned to suspect danger at every turn. When the path opened out, the cold, open air shocked your lungs - standing for a moment, you let it fill you in and out. In the silence that smothered the castle, you could barely think. Out here, your thoughts wandered freely, roaming the countryside.

Steve’s words still burned in your ears. _I would not think you to be so selfish_.

He had called you selfish. He had said that you believed other people existed for your service. Perhaps he was right.

You had lived a sheltered life, and had never really wanted for anything, material-wise. Anything that Hope didn’t want, you could have. The dress and cloak you wore at that moment used to be hers.

And all of a sudden, Steve had appeared, shining with a humble kind of glory that only seemed to be present in him. You didn’t deserve his protection. Your parents had fought for it, and here you were, risking yourself only to feel at ease.

He was right. You were selfish.

But you were going to do something about it.

**

It was early evening when you returned to the castle. It was eerily still, the grounds free of any sign of life. You hummed softly to yourself as you entered the courtyard, feet crunching in the snow. The darkness felt heavy behind you, and you were eager to get inside to the warm. Just before you could step inside the inner courtyard, though, something moved behind you.

You stopped, frozen. Everything was cold all of a sudden - an icy chill spread through the air, reaching out to grip you by the shoulders -

You spun, hands flying to block your face. The creature, big and hulking, skulked towards you at a death-like pace. You were bare without your dagger as you would be in your nightgown on a winter's eve.

Slowly you moved back, knowing that if you ran, you could make it inside the castle, to safety. Turning, you ran forward -

Only to be confronted by another black mass. And suddenly they were everywhere.

Horrified, you whirled around, met with creatures at every turn standing in a circle around you. By the light of the moon and the flickering torches in the distance, you saw their hooded faces, bones calcified over their features.

Grotesque, they loomed, drawing hands spiked with sharp metal. There was nowhere for you to run. That was when the voices started. Your hands flew to your head, as they viciously ripped open your skull, only to whisper their dark promises into the deep chasm they found there.

_Give yourself to us._

Tears stung your eyes as you gripped your head, trying to find an escape. They were everywhere, in every thought, every memory-

 _There is nowhere to hide. You cannot escape us_. Sobbing, you cried into the thick blanket of darkness.

You could no longer see; only hear and feel them inching ever closer.

“Why?” You wailed, voice strangled. “Why me?”

 _One soul. It has to be you_.

The words were tearing your head apart. You pulled at your hair, trying to hold onto something, anything, that would make this unbearable pain go away - A sudden, slashing sound of metal on metal -

There was a distinct wrenching sound, and the tension dissipated. One by one, they stopped talking.

When you finally opened your eyes, ears ringing, Lady Natasha was standing over you. The bodies lay motionless around you. Her red hair was loosened slightly from effort, and she was still panting, sword firmly gripped in her hand.

“It pays to be armed.” You remarked, your voice slightly hoarse.

“Certainly.”

She didn’t look at you, but far away into the distance, as if searching for something. Or someone. “They’ll come back, I’m sure.” She turned to you. “Steve and Peter, they’ve already gone, haven’t they?”

All you could do was nod.

In one fluid motion, she replaced her sword back in its sheath. Your head was still shooting with pain, but your bones hummed with a strange sort of energy. You wanted to lie down, to forget about it all, to let heady exhaustion take over your body. But there were still a lot of questions you had, and people you needed to check on. You looked at her, as she seemed frozen in her vigilance.

“Thank you.” Lady Natasha looked at you suddenly, her head turned. She didn’t reply, and for a good few minutes you had a sinking feeling she was going to scold you. For venturing out unarmed, for being weak and not fighting back, for being selfish - you deserved all the criticism she threw at you, you decided.

After a long, outward-drawn breath, she offered you her hand.

You took it, and let her pull you to your feet.

**

The crooked huts and spires rose against the darkening sky as Steve and Peter rode into the town. Faces smudged with age disappeared as the hooves of their horses clattered past, peeking in through rickety windows and doorways.

The market square was packed up, and the vendors had long since gone home. It was empty. Steve drew in a breath. Everywhere was eerily silent - no birds sang, nor swooped over their heads. The taverns were devoid of life, and there was no movement.

As they travelled through the quiet streets, the church clock chimed eight. There was a tense few seconds of stillness before the first scream.

Peter jumped in his saddle. His horse twitched restlessly, and he leaned down to stroke its neck gently.

There was another scream. Steve’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. It was not far away - they were careful as they moved towards the sound. Doors banged and a wind battered against their faces. The trees were not moving.

Peter motioned to his left, and as they turned the corner, they discovered the source of the noise. The blood-curdling sight of a woman, shielding her baby, as two dark creatures advanced towards her.

“Please!” She cried, hugging her child closer. Steve couldn’t bear it. He swung down from his horse, and with a swift maneuver of his sword, he killed the two creatures.

There was a horrible wrenching sound, and they disappeared into thin air.

The woman was still crying, pressed against the doorway of her house. She watched him with frightened eyes as he approached her. Steve held up his hands in peace.

Some of the worry went from the woman’s brow, but she still held her baby protectively close. “They just...appeared,” she sobbed, clearly distressed, “and I heard their voices in my head - they said they wanted a soul- they would kill me if I didn’t tell them where she was…”

Once again she burst into scared tears, and Steve’s brow creased.

“Where who was?” She shook her head, silently crying. Steve sighed, and turned to Peter.

“Peter, see to it that this dear lady is given something to ease the shock. I will go and see what I can find out.”

Peter frowned, stepping down from his horse. “But what-”

Another scream pierced the air. A rushing followed, a gathering of cloaks, footsteps - Steve drew his sword, motioning for the woman to get inside -

Far down the pitch dark street, there was movement. One by one they appeared, and there was a whispering inside his head.

_It’s too late._


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dark mercenaries have are hunting you through the villages, seeking your soul and destroying everything in their way. But instead of running, you must face them.

The sky was pitch-black outside, the sort of thick, inky darkness that swallows up shadows and hides all manner of sins.

But far away in a castle, looking through a window at the open lands, you knew exactly what was going on. The mercenaries would be attacking the nearest villages, and with only Steve and Peter to defend them, you knew they didn't stand a chance. You imagined them, suddenly so small on their feeble steeds, facing a mass of trained killers. Their path opened before them, dark and full of death.

You didn't like it.

You turned to Wanda, who hovered anxiously next to your bed.

"I've turned your covers, my lady. Would you like me to prepare you for bed?" She asked politely.

You ignored her, beginning to pace. "My uncle and cousins are accounted for, and they should be safe at Lord Barton's. Once they have taken the villages - which will not be a hardship, as they are small and the townsfolk few in numbers - they will turn to us."

Wanda frowned. "My lady?"

You stopped pacing, staring at her. "We must take the fight to them."

She was shaking her head. "I don't understand. Sir Wilson and Sir Rogers were assigned to-"

"-to protect us, yes, I know." You finished impatiently. "But we have to look further than that. Innocent people will die if I stay here."

Wanda paled. "You...you don't mean to give yourself up?"

A slight smile adorned your lips, and you shook your head in answer. "No, I don't. I have a plan. But I must speak with Dr Rhodes first."

**

The chanting was almost deafening.

Steve resisted the urge to bury his head between his hands, and forget the whole world existed - their voices were harsh and brittle, hissing as if they hadn’t spoken in many long years. Peter wasn’t faring much better. Terrified, he was backing towards his horse, looking as if he was going to leap onto it all of a sudden and gallop away.

Still, Steve drew his sword.

Still, he saw the muddy battlefield before him - the soldier’s cries, as they fell, one by one. He saw it all the time. And there was the ache, once again. Pawing helplessly at his chest.

Closing his eyes, he thought of what made him calm, as he felt the mercenaries approach. Your face, silhouetted in candlelight; your eyes, ringed with fear. How brave you had been that night. He could be brave, too.

With two strong, fight-worn hands, he gripped his sword, and moved towards the enemy.

**

The door to the doctor’s study was ajar, allowing a thin beam of orange firelight to glance through. You knocked lightly, before the door swung open, illuminating the entirety of the dark corridor behind you.

Dr Rhodes was frowning at you. “My lady? It is late, you should be asleep.”

You sighed. Fortunately, Dr Rhodes was one of the few people who could talk to you like that. The number seemed to be growing as of late.

“No, I should be in the outlying villages, with the people.”

He shook his head. “I...don’t have the pleasure of understanding you, my lady.”

“As the sole remainder of nobility in this castle, I have a duty of care to those who lie within Lord Pym’s lands. His role falls to me now.” You elaborated calmly. “You know as well as I do that two men won’t be enough to help them, even if they are men of shield.”

Dr Rhodes shook his head, again. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I will go without your blessing.” You said firmly. “But I would wish for it.”

The doctor stared at you incredulously, all ceremony abandoned. The wind buffeted at the feeble glass of the windows. “Don’t you think that your uncle would wring my neck if anything happened to you? That he would wring all of our necks?”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to run out of words. He would not refuse you. 

“I owe him too much.” Dr Rhodes seemed to be speaking to himself now, quietly. 

“What?” Your heart was pounding, afraid of what he was going to say next. “Please, Dr Rhodes - every minute we waste is a minute where someone innocent falls.”

“You don’t understand, do you?” He gazed at you sadly. “We all swore an oath to protect you. Me, Scott, Bruce...all of us. For your parent's sake, don't give yourself up to them." 

The wind picked up, and so did the rain, like tiny pieces of tin bashing at the roof above your heads. Your mind swam with questions, accusations - anger filled you, then seeped out slowly; you couldn’t be angry with him. Taking a deep breath, you tried to suppress the aching in your heart. The questions could be saved for another time. Right now, there were more important matters at hand.

“Your uncle wanted me to keep it a secret from you, but…” Dr Rhodes trailed off, hopelessly. “You are of age now, Y/N. You have a right to know. And considering the circumstances…”

A sad smile crossed your face. “It is my soul they want.”

"Y/N-"

"I won't give myself up. But I won't stay here, either. There would have been a snake, someone who betrayed my parents, in order to seek my soul for retribution, now. And tonight, they ride to meet me. Isn't it fitting that I greet them? The person who is responsible for all of this?"

**

Everyone gathered in the main hall, the vaulting arches and corners shrouded in darkness. You stood at the head of the table, as you had seen your uncle do so many times before. A few candles lit the space in front of you, and the faces around you.

“If you choose to do this, Lady Y/N, your safety cannot be guaranteed. It would be going against your uncle’s wishes.” Sir Wilson said solemnly.

“I understand that, but my intentions remain the same.”

“The Lord Pym had requested that you did not leave the castle, and I would not go against his wishes, if-”

“Damn his wishes!” You shouted, voice echoing in the vast chamber. “He can wish whatever he wants to. He may neglect his tenants if he wants to. But I cannot, in the knowledge that those villages are being torn apart, stay here.”

The room was silent after your outburst. Only Lady Natasha sent you a knowing glance, and stepped forwards so that her face was in the flickering candlelight.

“I will come. And so will they.” She adjusted her sleeve. “Let us ready the horses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, there it is, folks. I hope you enjoyed this instalment. I apologise, again, for the delay in updates. stay tuned for more :)


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the truth is finally revealed to Steve.

The sky was a muddy, murky black - there appeared to be no moon, no light, only that of the empty gleam that shone like a mysterious light from the ocean in the enemy’s eyes. It was greed, and hunger, for blood.

He went through the practiced motions, time and time again - stabbing at the darkness, feeling cold liquid seep into his hands. Over and over again, their screams relentless. Peter behind him, his scared and shaky breaths clouding in the cold night air.

After pulling his sword from a dust-covered carcass, Steve turned to Peter, eyes drifting north. Peter nodded, and slunk away. He would go to the rooftops, where he could find a better vantage point.

Until then, it was just Steve.

And from the bleak, heaving mass, he could see something beginning to merge. The ghostly mercenaries began to melt together- limb by limb, fusing like a skeleton collecting its bones from the other graves. Horrified, he froze as the corpse he had just drawn his sword from grew from the ground, snarling from deep within its throat, and blending with the hulking creature that was beginning to form. He shielded his eyes, sword poised in front of him - ready to act -

“Son of shield.” A low, gravelly voice scratched the back of his mind.

He lowered his hand. What should have been a huge monster was now a cape-slung figure, wearing a mask of ornate silver. It had risen, like a creature of the underworld, from the shadows. Only, it was not what he had expected.

“Stand down.”

Steve gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes against the din. Flashes of steel and silver danced in front of his eyes, until he could no longer determine what was real and what was not, and hot needles stabbed into his head, a thousand pinpricks-his knees buckled, body ready to give into the pain-

“Stand down. Yours is not the soul I seek, but I will claim it if you do not stand down.”

Steve breathed through his nose, harsh and heavy, squeezing his eyes shut. “Why-are you-tormenting these villages?” He panted, gripping his weapon tighter. He needed Peter beside him. “Why do you seek a soul?”

“For the same reason as every mortal on this earth.”

Through his blurred vision, he could see the figure pause, tilt its masked head. “Only, not for something so pitiful as revenge. For the bond made by water, blood must be paid.”

_Made by water… Blood_..

Words moved around frantically in Steve’s head as he tried to discern the meaning behind the figure’s twisted words. Why is it that they always speak in tongues, and not say their real meaning?

“You are no mortal.” Steve breathed, struggling to get through each word. Peter struggled on the ground next to him, succumbing to the same blinding pain. He could hear the smirk through its voice.

“Perhaps not. Allow me to show you.”

All of a sudden, there were no more needles, no more piercing agony.

Breath heaved like a wave from Steve’s chest, relief flooding - peace, at last, he could feel no more pain - this was the end of his struggling, and now death would grant him release -

“The world is not as simple as you think it, split into factions of shield, and hydra - the foe and the friend - the lover and the enemy. It has never been that way. People drift between good and evil, unaware of the line they so innocently crossed every day. One day you may stray into the path of something you never thought you would choose.”

Something was welling up in Steve’s mind, emerging from depths as coal black as the space behind his eyelids. A hand, reaching from a well, fingernails grasping stupidly at the filthy mortar of the walls, trying to stay afloat. Another hand, emerging to meet it, a beacon in the darkness. Grasping, pulling up, the figure of a woman whose hair clung to her in matted sheets, soaked to the bone.

She resembled you, through and through, so much so that a pang of emotion rang in Steve’s chest. The woman was drawn up into the arms of a man, whose face Steve did not know, and slumped there as if lifeless.

“When a life is saved, there is a debt to pay. This is the unwritten rule so many seem to have forgotten.”

The outer walls of a castle appeared, the scene of winter flooded with colour. Two young girls played in the snow, faces alight with the rawness of the freezing air. Steve blinked - he knew this memory. It was you, a younger you, and your cousin Hope. You were just a child.

A man, the same man who had saved your mother from drawing, watched from the parapets as you and Hope danced around each other like fireflies. The scene flickered again, and as quickly as the sparks disappeared from a fire, you had grown older. The plumpness of childhood was still on your face, but you were regal as you sat beside your uncle at a banquet table, Hope opposite you. He knew the look in your eyes even as a child, the calculated yet fierce control you maintained; the adults listened as you spoke, enraptured. A way of talking, far beyond your years - without knowing what you were saying, he wanted to listen.

Hope looked into her lap, dark hair falling about her face. The man sitting beside her eyed you burningly, before drifting his gaze back to his place.

“Female power, as captivating as it may be, is the work of satanic rituals and witchcraft of the age of the devil. I saw the witch in her from a young age.”

Steve’s face burned with anger- you were no witch, only a woman, making the best of what life had given her.

You were playing the harpsichord, older now, fingers gliding effortlessly across the keys, as everyone watched you, enraptured.

“I was not the only one. She had not the meekness of her cousin, of a woman befitting her station, low though it was. She was not demure, but bold, full of temerity. I had the gift of seeing it grow stronger still, a dark future."

Darkness grew around the castle. A guard stood beside you and your cousin’s bed as you huddled close to one another.

“The lands were threatened by an organisation of the people, bent on restoring power to themselves, overthrowing the odious imperiality of the country. They attacked the castle each night, whilst the shades of danger drawing closer to her family grew tighter, each plunder and death a nail in the coffin of their fate. I was asked, a second time, to save a life.”

Your mother, tears streaming down her face illuminated by candlelight, clung to your father and implored the man in front of them, almost sinking to her knees with grief.

“But it was not a life I wanted to save. I had to promise them my protection, but at a price I would not name. They were desperate, so they agreed to my unstated terms.”

The man was now at your side constantly, in dark colours so that he might blend in with his surroundings, shielding you from the conversation of your elders, and from the bettering of your education. Confined to your room, you now stitched and paced, waiting.

“You were keeping her in one place - so that you could kill them, and prevent her from becoming the witch you so abhorred,” Steve spat. “I hope you burn in hell.”

The figure tilted its head. The storybook-like scenes were now gone, and an acrid smoke hung in the air, like the disembodied souls of the mercenaries around him. The moon was covered by a shade of cloud, and mysterious shadows danced on the ground.

“I did not kill them, as you so vehemently accuse. Their death was not caused by me - I had the intention of confining the girl, but not her parents, who had come to be my friends, whom I cared for deeply. I could not besmirch the name of the woman I so loved by allowing her daughter to become a Thing of the devil.”

A hollow dread was now building like bile in the pit of Steve’s stomach, as he realised what had truly taken place. He had been wrong all along. 

“They were killed, eventually, by the vagabonds that threatened the castle. It was a time I truly regret. To bury the woman I should have married, is a great shame indeed.”

“What, then? You decided to keep Y/N locked away for eternity? An impossible task.”

“Ah, so we agree on one thing. The witch was not to be confined. But I was sent away, soon after their deaths, by the Lord Pym. He had learned of my love for the girl’s mother, and, thinking I destroyed them both in a fury of passion, had done away with me. I did not see any of them again.”

Steve’s lips moved, confused by what he had heard. Where there was compassion in the figure’s voice, as he spoke of your mother, there was bitterness laced in his gravelly he spoke of Lord Pym’s exile of him. Where there was love, there was hate. But why did he want your soul?

“Child, although you have seen death, you don’t know what it is to want someone dead. For their soul to perish, more than mere cold-blooded killing is required.”

Steve struggled on the ground, but there was a vice-like grip on his shoulders.

“She must die, and you will be the one to do it.”

Breath didn’t come. He sat, motionless, staring into the creature’s eyes. “Never.” He hissed. “I will never do it.”

“Then I will make you - for a boy such as you, it will not be hard-”

Just as he reached, resisting the vice-hold, for his sword, a clear, bell-like voice rang out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a hot minute (more like year) and I'm sorry I was gone for so long. your comments and kudos have meant so much to me, thank you for still supporting me when I hadn't posted in ages haha- hopefully I will have some more time on my hands to post some more fics for you.   
>  please stay well, and safe, and I hope you enjoyed this slightly cliche and depressing chapter!


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